


Day 4 - Soulmate AU

by Sang_argente



Series: samifer love week 2016 [4]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: First Kiss, First Meetings, Implied/Referenced Incest, M/M, Soulmate-Identifying Marks
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-01
Updated: 2016-08-01
Packaged: 2018-07-28 08:48:11
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,904
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7633396
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sang_argente/pseuds/Sang_argente
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In which Sam thinks he lacks a soulmate and Lucifer is surprised.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Day 4 - Soulmate AU

In a world where people carry words on their wrists, the first words they hear from their soulmate, Sam is an anomaly. At least, that's what Dean says, using the scientific word to make his little brother feel better. And it does. At least, until Dean leaves again and it's just Sam who can't block out the poisonous voices in his mind. He knows the truth.

He's a freak.

Where there should be words, it's blank. Just smooth tan skin with no marks at all. Dean thinks he just doesn't have words, one of thousands in the world. That's why he's so quick to reassure Sam that it's normal, there's nothing wrong with him, sometimes it just happens. Dad had just frowned whenever it was brought up, unhappy but not faulting Sam. In his kinder moments he liked to remind Sam that it would only help. Not having a soulmate would make him a stronger, more focused hunter.

What neither of them knew was that no, Sam didn't have words on his wrist, but he had something else somewhere else. When he had turned thirteen, instead of the expected words, a blush colored feather had appeared on the pale skin stretched over his chest. Specifically, over his heart.

He keeps it covered as much as possible. He changes in the bathroom, quits stripping his shirt off in the heat, leaves gauze taped over it often. Every time Dean calls him a girl or mocks his modesty, Sam shoots back pointed remarks about Dean's own narcissism. He can't imagine anything worse than his big brother finding out his secret, mainly because if Dean finds out so will Dad.

Dad already has a strange look in his eyes when he looks at Sam, anger or fear or sadness or all three. There's something Dad knows about Sam that makes him give him that look and Sam hates it, hates him sometimes. Sam is his son. There shouldn't be anything that could make his dad look at him like that. But there is and Sam can't imagine how much worse it could get if he knew the truth.

So Sam keeps it under wraps, literally and figuratively, until he's out from Dad's thumb, hundreds of miles away from his family at Stanford. He's eighteen and no one knows more about him than he does. He starts to relax about people possibly seeing the feather, blows it off as a tattoo if someone decides to ask.

Some do, most don't. Especially none of his new friends. There's six of them, not including Sam, and none of them have words on their wrist. They just fell together naturally, this one knowing that one knowing that one until they settled into their little group.

It's halfway through the semester, right after midterms, that it finally comes up. They're all together and drunk and exhausted when Zach says, “Do you ever wonder what it means?”

Jess looks up from where she's been painting Brady’s nails and says, “What what means?”

“The pictures.”

It's quiet for a long moment, the heavy sort of silence where everyone knows there is a secret, what the secret is, and that it's finally coming to light. Sam doesn't know how he knows, but he knows all the others have pictures over their hearts in place of words on their wrists. He assumes everyone else has figured it out too.

“It's a moon,” Luis says, brazenly lifting his shirt to show the pale circle on his dark skin. “Been there since I was thirteen. Never told my parents.”

Brady stares at it, head tilted to the side like it always is when he's trying to figure something out. “Why is it red?”

“What?” Luis asks as he looks down at it.

“Straight on it looks white,” Brady explains. “But if I turn my head like this, it looks red.”

Everybody tilts their head the same way and makes surprised noises.

“Huh,” Luis whispers, running his fingers over the moon. “I never noticed.”

Becky, ever the romantic, chimes in. “Maybe that'll help you find whoever it is.”

“Maybe.”

They go around the room after that, showing off their pictures to each other. Maybe it's the excitement of finally showing them to somebody, but nobody holds anything back. Not even Zach and Becky, who have the same blue ink triquetra on their chests.

“Wait,” Kat says, eyes darting from the blue on their chests to the blue in their eyes. “Aren't you guys twins?”

“Catholic twins,” they say in unison, not even laughing at what must be a common occurrence.

“Becky’s younger,” Zach says as he shifts slightly.

Sam's seen Dean pull that exact move a thousand times, big brother shielding the little brother. Except Zach is shielding his little sister. His soulmate, Sam realizes as his keen eyes catch sight of their fingers tangled together behind Zach.

“Hey,” He says softly, catching their attention. “It's okay. I don't care.”

That prompts everyone else to start giving their own assurances, voices tripping over one another's.

“Besides,” Jess says as she flips her hair back over her shoulder. “Who knows who were mated to?”

Kat’s eyes go wide. “Or what. Christ, my mom would kill me if I married some kind of witch or something.”

Everyone laughs but Sam can barely bite back the surprised curse that wants to fall out of his mouth. He thinks back over the group: Luis’s full moon, Jess’s blood red machete, Kat’s admittedly witchy looking symbol, his own feather. These are certainly not symbols that represent humans, except for maybe Zach and Becky. But even with them there's something supernatural about it, Sam thinks as all the lore he's ever read about twins comes flooding back.

He keeps his mouth shut though, never says a words about it again until eight years and thousands of miles later.

Dean's been to Hell and Sam's been drinking demon blood and seals of the Apocalypse are breaking all over the world. That's what leaves Sam where he is now, locked in a motel room with his brother's pet angel as said brother goes out to get drunk or laid or both. It's the end of the world after all.

Sam usually ignores Castiel, their first meeting playing in his head every time he looks at the angel. The boy with the demon blood. Warm hands grasping his, electricity in the touch. Suspicious eyes looking up at him. After all the faith Sam had in angels, that wasn't the reception he expected.

There's something different about tonight, though. Sam looks at Castiel and all he can think about is Dean telling him the story of their meeting. How Dean talks about the way the shadow of Castiel's wings stretched across the barn, awed and fearful.

It makes him overly aware of the feather on his chest and for some reason he can't hold it in anymore.

“Can I ask you something?”

Castiel turns to him, flat blue eyes staring at him in curiosity.

Taking that as a yes, Sam says, “Dean...He told me about your wings. Do...do all angel wings look the same?”

“No.”

That's all Castiel says, leaving Sam sitting in silence.

“Will you explain?” Sam asks quietly.

Castiel looks up at him for a long moment before sighing heavily. “Angels have a hierarchy. Different classes of angels have different color wings. Seraphim like myself share the same blue wings.Lower classes have darker wings. Archangels, of course, all have different wings.”

“How so?” Sam asks, heart pounding.

“Michael has white wings,” Castiel explains. “Raphael has silver, Gabriel has gold.”

Something like a mix of dread and excitement floods through Sam's veins. “What about Lucifer?”

“If Lucifer's wings had survived his fall, they would have been a very light shade of red,” Castiel says with a solemn voice.

“Like...like pink, right?”

Castiel nods and opens his mouth to say more, but the door being thrown open cuts him off.

Dean is back from his night out, cheap alcohol and cheaper perfume stinking his jacket. He throws it onto his bed, narrowly missing where Castiel is sitting stiffly, and looks up.

“Jesus, the two of you staging some kind of depressing, emo set for me to come back to on purpose?”

“Don't worry about it,” Sam says. He doesn't answer any of Dean's questions, reverting to his tried and true method of keeping his mouth shut.

For months he stays quiet, straining under Dean's suspicious looks and Castiel's ever growing awareness. It's not until he's left Dean that it comes up again.

He's working in a dive bar, two weeks into cleaning tables and mixing drinks, when his chest twinges. At first it just seems like a regular itch, something under his shirt, but then it starts to burn and the distinct outline of the burning makes him freeze in place. Taking a deep breath, he sets the glass he was wiping down and turns around.

“What can I get you?”

Blonde hair shines under the lights, blue eyes looking up at him with pleasure and excitement.

“Surprise me,” Lucifer says, resting his chin in his hand.

Sam spends the night mixing drinks for an archangel, watching as he grimaces or winces or smiles. They talk when Sam has time, he is still on the clock after all. As the night drags on, Lucifer starts touching Sam and he lets him. Soft brushes of fingers on his wrist, his hips, the small of his back.

He's locking up, a newbie’s job, when he turns to Lucifer standing on the sidewalk.

“I probably shouldn't ask,” Sam says. “But do you want to come back to my motel room?”

“Of course,” Lucifer says, happiness seemingly lighting him up from the inside.

They walk home from the bar, getting closer and closer, brushing against each other with every step, until they reach the motel. Sam unlocks the door and the next thing he knows he's pushed against it, the cool form of Lucifer pressed against him.

“I didn't expect this,” Lucifer says into Sam's neck. He laughs sadly. “I was sure I would break out of the cage and fight for you, fight to be with you, only to be turned away and have Michael throw me back in.”

“I might have,” Sam admits. “But something stopped me.”

“What?”

Sam grabs Lucifer's hand and slides it up his shirt, tracing the raised edge of the feather on his chest. “This.”

“What is this?” Lucifer asks, looking at the feather with wide eyes. “Is that mine?”

“Yes.”

“How?”

“Most humans have soulmates, and when they turn thirteen, words appear on their wrist. The first words they'll hear from their soulmate,” Sam explains. He watches affectionately as Lucifer keeps tracing the feather. “When I turned thirteen, this appeared. Your feather over my heart. Apparently that's what happens when a human has a supernatural as a soulmate.”

“Made for each other,” Lucifer breathes before leaning down to press a soft kiss against the feather. “This is much better than what I came for.”

“What did you come for?” Sam asks, running his fingers through Lucifer's soft blonde hair.

“You, my vessel. My true vessel, made for me by my father.”

“Made for each other,” Sam repeats, overwhelmed at what it all means. “And now we're here together. Finally.”

“Finally,” Lucifer agrees before catching Sam's lips in a short, chaste kiss. “Finally.”

**Author's Note:**

> for hey--cassbutt on tumblr for samifer love week


End file.
